


Best Man for the Job

by outsideth3box



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Captivity, Coercion, M/M, Non Consensual, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outsideth3box/pseuds/outsideth3box
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John, unfortunately, really thinks he is the best man for the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Man for the Job

**Author's Note:**

> References childhood sexual abuse by parent.  
> **NOT SAFE for people with consent triggers!**

 

"I'll do it."

(No, no, no, no, no!)

Sheppard ignores the screaming in the back of his brain with long years of practice. This is the only sensible way to handle this situation and he knows it. The rest of the team looks broken already and nothing has even happened yet.

He won't break. Not now, not during, and not after. He knows this for a fact. That's why it has to be him.

(No! Nonono, run! Run, run!)

They were strip-searched and thoroughly inspected, and then inspected again with devices McKay said appeared to detect non-living materials, and now Sheppard finally knows how many weapons Ronon carries, literally, on his body.

Ronon is still certain they can escape, even though a week in this cell has not turned up a single weak point, even though every one of them has brought their own expertise to bear. Solid concrete walls, no windows, electrified bars, very well-armed guards who come in sets of three.

The team members were each given a pair of short pants and a shirt, and have been fed only food that requires no utensils to eat. They have no chance in hell of breaking out.

(Out, out! Need to get out!)

 

The city's Subsurrann, Artor Benno, has offered to make contact with Atlantis for them, to go behind his Surrann's back, effectively getting them home, in exchange for a night with one of them. He isn't picky about which. He finds them each "enticing" in their own way.

McKay is horrified and hasn't stopped enumerating the long list of ways in which this is wrong, wrong, wrong. Rodney seems destined to vibrate right out of his skin. He keeps looking at Sheppard as if by agreeing on these things together, they can make this not be happening.

Teyla has a quiet, speculative look in her eyes that John doesn't like. She would allow herself to be the evening's sacrifice, but John can tell there would be damage by the way she flinches, uncharacteristically, when McKay moves suddenly.

Ronon looks furious on Teyla's behalf, and alarmed on his own, and has been pacing nonstop, fists clenching and unclenching. John suspects Ronon would offer himself as well. But he doesn't think the Subsurrann would survive the experience. Benno is their ticket home, they need him to survive.

"I'll do it," John says again, and the endless litany of pleading screams at the back of his skull ratchets up a notch. He ignores it. All three of his team members turn to him, staring. He can see the conflict in their faces, each of them relieved and appalled and afraid and guilty. They all start to speak at once, and John cuts them off. "No. No discussion. I'm doing this. And we're going home."

(No, no, no, no, no!)

Of course they don't listen, and their arguments roll over each other while he turns away and yells for the guards. When the guards come it's clear they've done this before, and John supposes the team is lucky they are getting anything at all in return, let alone a pass back through the gate.

The Subsurrann opens his door with a frown that transforms into a delighted grin as he looks John up and down and reaches out to usher him into the room. There are no obvious implements of bondage or pain, though the wrought iron headboard looks multifunctional. This is not particularly comforting. John knows the difference between "obvious" and "actual".

As John is guided toward the bed, the man keeps touching him, petting his shoulders and arms, murmuring soothing nonsense into his ear. He supposes Benno perceives himself a gentle, considerate lover.

(No touching, don't, no, no, no!)

It doesn't matter. John would still be here if the man was vicious. This is the fare for his team's trip home, and he truly _doesn't_ care the way they do. He is without doubt the best man for this job. He knows exactly what to do, how to make this work.

He returns soft strokes and smiles like for like, shores up the wall in his mind behind which the clamor is surging, and soon Benno is where he wants to be.

The rough, rocking slams of the Subsurrann's hips impacting his ass give John something to focus on, a contact point through which to feed the man above him the illusion that John is actually here. With his eyes trained on Benno's dark hair, and his hands wrapped around the bars of the intricate headboard, John concentrates on regulating his breathing to match the jolting rhythm, inserting the occasional huffing groan to show the Subsurrann how much he is enjoying his rape.

He feels very little, in fact. John has to remind himself to pay attention or this could turn ugly. Considerate rapists like Benno can be so much more dangerous than outright brutes when they are offended by the ingratitude of their "partner".

Wrapping his legs tighter around the Subsurrann's waist, John tries harder to hear the whispered endearments past the howling in his head.

(No, no, nonononononono!)

"That's it, so good," murmurs Benno, in his ear.

(Out, out, out, let me out!)

Experimentally, John reaches up and drags his nails across Benno's back lightly, receiving feedback in the form of a moment of stillness, followed by a series of quick, hard thrusts and a loud moan, hands clenching on his shoulders.

(Don't touch me, don't touch me, no touching, no, no, no, no!)

Then it happens.

Benno has lifted himself up on his hands, hips slamming harder, faster, chasing his orgasm now, looking into John's eyes and John is looking back. A bead of sweat rolls from Benno's hairline to his forehead and John sees it coming in slow motion. The languid, liquid stretch of the salty fluid, the snap of the elastic hold of the surface tension, the shine as the drop falls from his father's face straight into John's right eye.

(NonononoNONONONO! Please, Daddy, no!)

Panic explodes in his gut and in his head. He thinks he is yelling but no words are coming out, they are all stuck inside his skull, crashing through the wall he normally keeps them behind and overwhelming his thoughts until there is nothing but shrieking.

(Please no, please, please, please!)

Through the wailing in his mind John hears himself begging "please, please, please" and Benno's eyes widen in surprise and he speeds up his thrusts for a last one, two, three good strokes and throws his head back and groans. He slumps slightly and smiles. John is frozen with horror and dread, but the hand on his cock is insistent, imperious, and shoves him over the edge. His limbs won't move and he feels electric fire exploding in his body.

(Please, no more!)

John's orgasms are always painful, steel wool on his raw nerves and broken glass in his gut, and he forces himself to keep his eyes open, to drag breath after breath into his lungs. To _feel_ the pain in his body, hoard it to himself so he knows he still has one.

Benno rolls away and lies panting while John lies and concentrates on not shaking, trying to calm his breathing, put the pieces of his brain back where they belong. Attempting to once again seize and subjugate the screaming voice in his head and incarcerate it behind its wall.

He barely notices Benno wiping his stomach with a soft cloth and calling the guards.

An hour or so after he is returned to the cell, Sheppard and the team start hearing familiar percussion coming closer and closer. John is surprised that the Subsurrann actually kept his promise, but not surprised that the man declined to mention it to his boss.

Then the Atlantean rescue team is bringing a guard at gunpoint to open the cell door and they are out. Someone hands him a P90 and there is much ducking and shooting on their way to the jumper and then more shooting all the way back to the gate.

The screaming is silenced. Incredible how the louder the outside world gets, the quieter it becomes on the inside. Disaster and gunfire and things going boom, these are the harbingers of inner peace in his world. John knows it won't last. It never does.

Luckily, in Pegasus there is always another crisis.

 


End file.
